


hang your defeat

by Hymn



Series: Hymn's Fic: The Castlevania Collection [1]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alucard is not in this lolololol, F/M, Pre-OT3, S3 spoilers, Teen for language, and a non-explicit blow job, i want to fix that but first i had to fix THIS, not physically at least, post-season 3, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: Two days go by, the horses plodding onward and the sun rising, falling. Trevor steers them down familiar roads, so recently traveled that there is no hope of night creatures. If it’s a punishment to withhold easy targets for the emotions roiling beneath their skin, then he’s uncertain for whom it’s for. Both of them, probably.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya & Trevor Belmont & Sypha Belnades, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades
Series: Hymn's Fic: The Castlevania Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659679
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	hang your defeat

**Author's Note:**

> pure, unadulterated reaction fic, that's it, that's all this is

  
  
  
  
Two days go by, the horses plodding onward and the sun rising, falling. Trevor steers them down familiar roads, so recently traveled that there is no hope of night creatures. If it’s a punishment to withhold easy targets for the emotions roiling beneath their skin, then he’s uncertain for whom it’s for. Both of them, probably.

Sypha simmers, her optimism finally silenced. 

Trevor wallows.

He had known it would end, those days of _fun_. Had known better than to indulge Sypha, no matter how big and blue her eyes, how wicked her dangerous hands. Known better than to hope, because in the end, people and all their cruelty always managed to snuff it out, again and again. Trevor knows; it is the story of his life.

But this time...something is different.

\--

It takes until the third day for him to realize what that difference is. They haven’t yet broken camp, such as it is: a small fire ringed with stones, a bucket of water from a nearby creek for washing, their morning meal left out to gather flies. Their appetites are lacking despite not knowing how long it may be before they run out of food again. 

And of course, there was no coin to collect at the end of this last shit show. 

Trevor is up on the bench, elbows on knees and chin in hands, watching Sypha watch the dying fire. She’s just standing there, brow furrowed, eyes bright and reflective as glass, her hands clenched. 

There’s fire in her; always has been, but before it was fueled by righteous rage, by pure determination. Sypha was probably born to be a hero: the problem is that she’s finally lived through enough to realize heroes don’t actually exist. The horrors of the world always give lie to them, reveal the sad truths, the broken promises.

Eventually, the fire Sypha is feeling now will go out. What will be left is this: rounded shoulders, memories that haunt you; the sickly taste of shame cloying in the back of your mouth; sorrow and the knowledge that you have failed.

Regret that you ever even tried.

Trevor always does his best not to remember, not to care. But he always does. It’s his curse, he thinks. A burden he wishes he didn’t have to bear because it hurts all the time. He sits there on the wagon bench while the sun shines down through the trees and Sypha contemplates the fire, and Trevor...remembers.

Children’s shoes, never to be worn again.

A man who’d been monstrous.

Trevor is meant to _hunt_ monsters, not befriend them, damn it. Shame pricks him, horror and guilt that he had ever been saddened by Judge’s death. That he’d been sorry. He wishes he could go back in time and break every bone in Judge’s body before the bastard died; wishes he’d known to hurt him while he still had the chance.

Wishes...a lot of things, really. His regrets pile up, one by one, until they become mountains.

So, Trevor sits and remembers and is full of self-hatred. It’s the way it always goes. He watches as Sypha reaches out a hand, twists it sharply at the wrist. The fire goes out. All that’s left is ash, a curling ribbon of smoke.

Still, Sypha stares in silence.

Defeated. Broken. 

Trevor thinks: _All these years avoiding mirrors so I can’t see how pathetically I wear the defeated look, and here she is, showing me_. He thinks: _I want to get so drunk I can’t feel anything anymore. I bet I could. I bet she wouldn’t care, won’t notice._

He thinks: _I don’t want her to become like me._

“Shit,” he mumbles into his dirty fingers. “Fuck. Shitting god damn _fuck_.”

That’s the difference this time around, he realizes. Before, he hadn’t had anything. No family, no friends, no real stake in the world. Easy to tuck tail and douse his wounds with as much alcohol as he could stomach, and then more if he could manage it.

Now…

There’s Sypha.

\--

She doesn’t realize where he’s going, what his plan is. They travel for three days. Five. Sypha begins to crumble at the edges, the fire burning out. On day six she says, “Do you even know where we are at?”

“Sure do,” Trevor says.

She leans her weight against his arm, head against his shoulder. Sighs. “That’s a change of pace. I did not think about where we might go, what we might do next. I have been...drifting.”

“Yeah,” Trevor says, rather wryly. “I _had_ noticed that. You aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Will you tell me where we are headed, Belmont?”

The horses keep trotting along, and Trevor knows better than to think that Sypha is okay, simply because the Speaker has begun speaking again. After all, Trevor still knows how to make his voice spit out words, and _he_ hasn’t been okay in _years_.

“No,” he decides, flicking the reins.

Sypha sighs again, still resting far too heavily against him. Trevor imagines he can feel her crumble a bit more, ash staining his cloak. 

He wishes he knew how to help, but he’s already doing the only thing he can think of. So he just sits still, holds steady, and waits.

Eventually, she speaks again. 

Admits: “I am...glad. That Alucard was not with us. He has borne too much pain already. I hope you do not mind. If one of the three of us were to be spared...then I am glad it was him.” A pause, and then she mumbles, “If I wake up in a brewery, I will be _most_ displeased.”

Trevor supposes that he might be more surprised to hear Sypha’s relief over Alucard being left out of this, safe and likely bored at his castle, if Trevor hadn’t already thought the same.

As it is, Trevor merely holds his tongue, squinting against the setting sun. They keep moving.

\--

By the middle of the second week Sypha has cobbled together most of a mask, a costume of normalcy that nearly feels like herself. Trevor is glad; it’s probably easier to mend when you _want_ to mend. It’s a trick he’s forgotten. Or maybe, a trick he never had the chance to learn.

But for Sypha’s sake, he’s trying.

\--

In bed that night, Sypha kisses him. “I am sorry,” she whispers, her fingers interlocking with his. “I thought I was strong, but I think...I think I did not even know what strength was. Trevor Belmont, your life has been _shit_.”

Trevor snorts, squeezing her hands gently. “I keep telling everyone that. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“I believe you.”

“No,” Trevor disagrees. “You understand me. Which I’ll admit...is not a thing I’m enjoying as much as I thought I might.”

Sypha kisses him again. “There is that saying, misery loves company. Are you saying that you do not love my company?”

“That is the _opposite_ of what I’m saying,” Trevor huffs, but the follow up sticks in his throat. Sentiment always does, so he can’t add _It’s because I do, in fact, love you. That’s why I hate you understanding what this feels like so damned fucking much_ even though it’s true.

But Sypha keeps kissing him anyway, so maybe she already knows.

\--

“I am serious, Trevor,” Sypha says. 

“Almost never,” Trevor mutters. “You are the least serious person I know. You laugh like, _way_ too much in the middle of battle. It gets awkward explaining to the locals.”

He knows that’s a bit hypocritical, but it doesn’t make it untrue.

“I will kick you,” Sypha says, sounding wistful with the urge. She is standing on the bench next to him as the horses pull their wagon along, peering out at the woods. “Now will you _please_ tell me where you are taking us? These woods are familiar, though I cannot place why!”

“Hmm,” Trevor pulls a face. “Am _I_ taking us somewhere? I thought _you_ were the brains of this operation.”

Sypha snorts, plopping down next to him in a billow of robes and gangly limbs. “Yes, I _am_. Which is why I am concerned about this secret destination! What goes on in that head of yours, Belmont? _I_ have no idea.

“It’s a mystery,” Trevor agrees.

He’s feeling...vaguely cheerful, he thinks. Though Sypha doesn’t yet know it, they’re nearly at their destination. It will be good to stop; good to heal; good to see—

“Ahh!” Sypha lunges, wrapping her arms about Trevor’s head. “I know! I know why these woods are familiar!”

Muffled, Trevor attempts a protest: “Sypha. I can’t _see_.”

“We are going to see Alucard!” Sypha cheers, most definitely _not_ removing her arms. Instead, she jostles Trevor back and forth in delight. “What a wonderful gift! Oh, I have missed him! Why did you keep it a secret?!”

“Well,” Trevor mutters into her forearm. “You weren’t exactly in a place to care for a while there.”

Sypha’s arms unwind.

Trevor blinks against the sunlit path before them, then turns to look at her. Wide, blue eyes. Solemn mouth. A tiny furrow between her brows.

“Trevor Belmont,” she says. “You are a kind man.”

“Fucking—shut up,” Trevor whines.

“No.” Sypha leans closer, places a hand on his knee and gently squeezes. “A very kind man, and I demand you pull this wagon over right now because the horses need a rest, and also, I would like very much to fuck you.”

Startled, Trevor jerks on the reins. “Wha—Now?!”

Sypha’s hand slides higher. “ _Now_.”

Trevor pulls the wagon over.

\--

“I know this is a reward, some uh—some kind of gratitude— _oh_ fuck! But—but—”

“Mm?” Sypha hums.

Trevor is a little busy going cross-eyed and weak-kneed, but eventually he remembers his point: “I’m selfish!”

Sypha pulls back enough to laugh delightedly at him. “Who is not selfish?” she asks. “So you also miss him. Big deal! It is a gift for both of us. Now, may I resume thanking you?”

“Oh, uh,” Trevor pants. “Yes?”

Sypha smirks. “Did you think I did not know? We may not talk about it, but that is because we both understand—we _miss_ him. With every breath, every thought. That is what happens when you love someone you’ve left behind, yes? But I am glad he is a home we can return to.”

“I don’t have a home,” Trevor blurts, but his heart is racing, and not even because Sypha is still on her knees, hands firm holding his hips in place.

Sypha says, “Neither did I. But that was before I found the two of you.”

Trevor...does not know what to say.

Luckily, Sypha doesn’t expect him to. She says, “Stop fretting. Let me be nice to you. Let _you_ be nice to you.” and goes back to work with a vigor and dedication that leaves Trevor seeing stars.

\--

Trevor is almost happy.

That’s not his first mistake, he thinks, but it might be the most damning. How had he forgotten so soon, he wonders? Less than three weeks ago he’d found a closet full of shoes and remembered: there is no room for hope, for gentleness. The world always breaks us in the end.

“No,” says Sypha.

She reaches out for his hand, both their knuckles gone white with strain on the reins. The horses toss their head, picking up on the tension. Sypha squeezes hard enough to hurt.

“No,” she says again. “We are not going back there. We will _not_.”

Before them stands Dracula’s castle, corpses rotting on spikes at the entrance. It’s wrong; it’s all wrong. Alucard is not meant to be capable of this. 

Numb, Trevor asks: “Where?”

“Lindenfeld,” Sypha answers, and her grip feels crushing. Anchoring. “I will not live your life again.” 

Trevor turns to her, sees fire in her eyes. Wholesome, protective, fierce. No crumbling. His heart aches, because she’s stronger than she knows. She looks at him and says: “I will find Alucard. We will see what needs mending.”

 _The whole damn world_ , Trevor thinks.

But he supposes it makes sense to start here, with just the three of them. He breathes in, holds it. Releases. “Okay,” he says, forcing tension from his shoulders. “I’ll...take care of the horses. You go and uh, talk at him or something.”

Sypha nods, kisses his cheek. Leaps off the cart, shooting into the air with a burst of controlled flame that startles the horses.

“Easy now. It’s okay,” Trevor tells them.

He hopes it’s true.

But if it’s not...well, he supposes that’s the thing about hope. No matter how many times it gets snuffed out, it can be rekindled. Sometimes, despite all the pain and the misery and the constant, crushing failure, it’s still worthwhile to keep on stupidly, foolishly hoping. 

And sometimes, it’s better to hold on to determination. 

“Whatever the fuck happened here, we’ll fucking make it okay,” Trevor decides. He pitches his voice louder, “You hear that, Alucard? We’re back! We’re here! And we’re going to _fix this_ , god damn it!”

From inside the castle, Sypha explodes something.

Trevor takes it as tacit agreement.  
  
  
  
  
\--  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> >:|


End file.
